


Like a Dance

by cosmicac



Category: Super Smash Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Film Noir, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 09:38:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2846393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicac/pseuds/cosmicac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new challenger rises from the gutters of Diancheng, the blackest enclave of Neo-HK, a veritable mecca of competitive Super Smash Brothers Melee. Launched into this fast and loose underworld with only rusty controller in hand, how will John struggle to the top while protecting his loved ones? Who will reign supreme at EVO 2020?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Dance

An unearthly howl reverberated off of the concrete walls and the platform was bathed in electric blue by the oncoming mag-lev. A gust of wind ripped through the station and detached John’s left in-ear monitor. The train slid into the station smoothly, doors lining up perfectly with the indicated markings on the platform.

A metallic voice echoed through the station: “Final destination: Jing Sha. Please board carefully.”

“This one’s ours,” Xin said as he motioned for John to follow him into the train.

John felt his stomach drop as the train accelerated to a cool 749 kilometers an hour, boring deep into the subterranean innards of Neo Hong Kong: a web of labyrinthine tunnels that spanned the entire length of the megalopolis and extended kilometers deep. It was said that their total length rivaled that of the Pacific.

“Yo, I heard Quaz is gonna show. He made eleventh on the latest Diancheng power ranking,” Xin said excitedly.

“Is that good? How many players can there be in Diancheng anyways?” John looked unconvinced. Diancheng, where he and Xin had grown up, had a population of only five million. It was one of the smaller of Neo-HK’s numerous enclaves.  

“Oh, you have no idea dude. Thousands at least. Eleventh is pretty fucking impressive.”

“Who does he play?”

“Falco. Listen, this Quaz guy, he’s been on fire recently. Half a year ago, he was a nobody. A scrub. Just like us. And then he went to EVO, and they say he trained with Westballz, who’s a fucking demi-god. Then he started bodying everyone in Diancheng, winning locals left and right. Now he’s ranked.” Xin’s eyes always lit up whenever talking about the game.

“So he’s the favorite to win this?”

“Yeah.”

Xin had been playing for years, always blabbering to John about the latest VODS every week as they were uploaded to the net. It was only a month ago that John gave in and decided to let Xin teach him how to play. And here he was, on his way to his first tournament.

“I shouldn’t even be here really. Remind me how you convinced me to go again?” John could have picked up the weekend shift at the hardware store; a few extra yuan would help him pay the bills and keep Song’s piano lessons going. Today was her lesson day, he remembered. He wondered how her Rachmaninov was holding up.

“Relax man. You’re pretty fucking good for a noob. I gotta see how you stack up in a real tourney. Besides, if you place, you’ll make back that shift money, eh?” Xin winked.

“Unlikely,” John said, as the train throttled off into the darkness.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The venue was an arcade buried deep inside Diancheng, the biggest, blackest bazaar in Neo-HK. Its structure itself was a gigantic dome of corrugated steel, edges packed with neon storefronts of varying sizes and decrepitude, like combs of a gigantic electronic beehive occupied not by bees, but by hordes of dealers jockeying to sell you their wares – soft, hard, biological – anything you wanted could be yours if gave the right person the right money.  

John took out his rusty Huawei deck and jacked in. His vision faded to black as his optical nerve was hijacked. A burst of light and he was standing on Final Destination, on a platform bounded by brilliant violet, hurdling through the starless cosmos of cyberspace. He stretched his limbs. They were lupine; he was Fox. His body shifted effortlessly in the artificial physics of the game as he sprung from aerial to shine to aerial.

A young man in a green tunic materialized across the stage: Link. His first opponent in pools. Link was powerful, one swing of his sword could send Fox flying. But he was slow. John danced right outside his range until Link was baited into attacking. Then his Fox would fly in for the punish. The match was over within two minutes.

His second opponent was a Fox who played with blind aggression, throwing out aerial after aerial with no care for consequences. John moved carefully, dodging his attacks. The enemy was fast but unwieldy, frequently making technical errors John could capitalize on. Opponent number two went down as well.

“Good games…good games….good games.” John won the rest of his pool matches. He jacked out and let his eyes readjust to the dim lighting. Hushed voices floated around him: “Who is this guy?”, “I don’t know, but he’s pretty fucking good.”

Xin came up behind him, grinning broadly. “How’d your matches go, man?”

“I beat everybody,” John replied.

Xin’s eyes widened. “Holy shit. Making it out of pools at your first tournament undefeated? That’s unheard of.”

“How’d you do?”

“Made it out. Lost to a Jigglypuff though. Floaties are my worst matchup, man.”

John looked across the arcade. Punks, gothics, hermits, and all manner of riffraff from the gutters of Diancheng had surfaced to play. Most were still immersed in their pool matches.

“Nice. When do I play my bracket matches?” John asked.

“Soon, probably. Bracket players don’t fuck around, be careful. Gotta go play my match now – good luck bro.”

When it came time, John took out his ghetto deck and jacked in. He was back on Final Destination, and across from him stood a white Marth. John dash danced across the platform, waiting for the enemy to make a move. The Marth player stayed perfectly still.

“A minimalist,” John thought. He stood a fair distance away and started to fire lasers. And then the Marth was on him. Throwing him up again and again until he ate the tip of Marth’s sword, sending him far out into the coded boundaries. John respawned and charged straight toward Marth with a neutral air – his brief spawn invincibility would keep him safe. But the Marth was fast, he was dashing back and avoiding John’s aerials until the invincibility wore off, and then John was in his grasp again. Luckily, the Marth’s technical skill was imperfect and John managed to escape the chaingrab this time. He quickly shined into an up-smash, taking a stock.

It was a tight battle, and soon both players were down to their last life. John knew what he had to do: bait the grab. He ran right up to the range of Marth’s sword, and then at the last second wavedashed back. The Marth anticipated this and wavedashed forward with a grab. Instinctively, John spot-dodged, and the grab missed. This was his chance. He ran forward with a shine, pushing Marth off the edge. Without hesitation, John flew off and followed him into the abyss for one last shine – eliminating all hope of recovery for Marth.

John jacked out to a small crowd surrounding him and the Marth player.

“That was hype as fuck!” came a shout.

“That was one hell of a game. Your neutral game is solid man. I’ve never seen you before, what’s your tag? I’m Fez.”

“Yeah, I’m new. Just call me John.”

“Well, you’re up against Quaz next. Good luck man. You’re gonna fuckin need it.”

Quaz. That was the guy Xin was talking about. The hotshot who was on the power ranking; the supposed disciple of Westballz himself. John was curious. What was it like to play a player of that caliber? Maybe it was best he get eliminated early anyways. He had already wasted enough time at this place.

A booming voice over the comms:

“John versus Quaz on the main stage.”

The main stage was a life-size, holographic projection of the game in the center of the venue. Two types of matches were played on the main stage: close battles between players of highly skilled players, and one-sided bloodbaths where a scrub was slaughtered purely for the sadistic viewing pleasure of the crowd. John suspected his match was meant to be the latter.

John shoved his way to the middle of the venue. A huge crowd had already gathered around. Quaz was already jacked in. John saw his lax form next to the stage, crimson mohawk blazing under the stage-light. His red Falco fluttered about the stage with blistering speed and precision, nair-shining and drill-shining with ease.

John jacked in. The crowd faded away and he stood facing the red Falco. They were on Yoshi’s Story.

An announcer bellowed: “Are you fools ready to see some blood?”

The crowd roared in response.

The match started. Quaz came at him, a ball of fire spitting lasers every half second. He was fast, faster than anything John had ever seen. John put up his shield, but it was futile. Quaz barraged him with dair-shines, pinning him in his shield. Let go and he would eat Falco’s steel-tipped boot. His shield dwindled in size, until it was going to pop. He let go and then Quaz was all over him – knocking him up with shine and then slamming him back down with dairs. Up and down, in an inescapable pillar of fire. Before he knew it, John was hurtling down into the blackness. Zero to death.

“Absolute destruction! Quaz is a machine! He can’t stop! He won’t stop!” thundered the caster. The crowd howled and danced like caged monkeys doped up on amphetamines, chanting Quaz with the intensity of a primal ritual.

John respawned. He used his brief window of invulnerability to chase down the red avian, but Quaz was slippery, wavelanding on and off platforms unpredictably. The instant John’s invincibility wore off, Quaz would be on him. Most characters would have very few options against Falco’s ruthless pressure, but John was Fox – the best character in the game. Fox’s shine only took one frame to come out; it could be used to interrupt the pressure.

John’s invincibility wore off. Quaz was on him again, but John was ready. He found the brief window between knocks on his shield and jump-cancel shined. It worked – Falco went flying straight back the direction he came. But John was too slow on the follow up. Quaz rebounded right back up and caught John in another combo, to death.

Next stock. John knew what he had to do now. Hesitation meant defeat. He caught Quaz in another shine out of shield. He immediately dashed forward. Jabbed to reset to neutral. Grab. Up throw. Up tilt. Regrab. Up throw. Regrab. Up throw. Regrab. Up-smash. Done. Quaz twinkled as he vanished overhead.

A brief moment of silence. Then, the crowd surged and sweltered, screams echoing off the iron walls.

“My boy Johnny! This fight ain’t over yet boys! Johnny’s feelin’ himself! This man is nuts!”

Somewhere, Johnny could sense his fingers moving, tapping out combos and moves as he sat in the dim arcade, pupils glazed in an electronic trance. He could feel the spectators mesmerized at his prismatic dance. But that was a universe away. Now he was Fox, and now he was warmed up. He knew in which direction Quaz would go, he saw his every move coming. Once John touched Quaz, he was no longer Quaz. He was just another red Falco, he was Xin, he was every scrub who had ever been bodied.

Soon, John found himself holding Quaz on the edge of the stage, both of them on their last stocks. He threw Quaz off, and the Falco firebirded to get onto the ledge. Downsmash. Quaz went flying off at a downward angle. He was too far to recover, it was over. John had won. He exhaled and closed his eyes briefly. Something wasn’t right. He jerked his eyes open, but it was too late. Quaz had been saved by Randall, the random cloud that flew by every ten seconds. Before he knew it, Quaz had shined him up and sent him pummeling into the void.

It was actually over now. John jacked out. He saw Xin shoving through a crowd that was flushed with post-orgasmic glow. John had lost. At least he could get the fuck out of here now.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John’s feet dangled over a fifty-meter drop as he perched on the dangerously corroded railing. He was on an old service tower overlooking Diancheng. It was a favorite spot of his. He could see the crooked, interwined towers of ferroconcrete, draped with layers of convulsing neon each more wild than the previous, like gaudy, makeup-caked women struggling to outdo each other. Their light gave the permanently dark underworld an otherworldly sheen. It was a strangely beautiful sight.

John became aware of someone besides him. It was Quaz.

“Fuck off. I don’t need your sympathy,” John said.

“I’m not here to apologize.”

“How did you find me?”

“I followed you. Wasn’t exactly hard.”

John narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Look. You’re pretty fucking good, kid. And with a little practice, you’d be bopping people left and right. We could use you in the next crew battle.”

“Forget it. I’m done with this game. I have things to take care of. People to take care of.”

“So, what? You gonna work in that techie sweatshop forever? That ain’t gonna pay the bills for long, kid.”

John looked off into the distance. Strings of red lanterns hung between the taller towers, celebrating the beginning of the new year. They seemed out of place in this grimy underworld; their faint glow nearly swallowed whole by the manic lights.

“And this will? It’s just a fucking game.”

“Kid, let me tell you something I’ve learned the hard way.” Quaz lit a Baisha filter, smoke drifting off into the chromatic night. “This isn’t a fucking game.”

 


End file.
